Shell Left Broken
by one four two nine seven eight
Summary: Ginny and Draco reflect on one another.


One of my most disliked couples ever – Why did I write this? I don't know, but hopefully you'll like it, whoever you are. Ah, Harry bashing in this, but I think it's understandable in the grand scheme of things.

I've been neglecting my disclaimers, haven't I? Rowling gets credit for the names, but hardly the personalities.

Don't know if 'twill be continued; time herself will tell. 

***

She was a shell, empty and brittle. She had been drained of energy, of life, of passion for anything. She was void of emotion, lost in a sea of misery and despair. And despite her melodramatic personality, she was utterly sincere about the emptiness she felt.

It was all the fault of that aggravating, self-absorbed Draco. Always thinking he was the best, always thinking he was everyone's favorite person. If given the opportunity she would knock his two front teeth out.

Also at fault, she had decided upon further contemplation, were her stupid brothers. Who had put them in charge of overseeing her life? Who had chosen them as her body guards? She didn't need a body guard, nor a brother – she needed a friend. She needed – 

No, she wouldn't stoop so low as to think that. She didn't need _him_, not after the way he'd treated her in all the time she had known him. The mere thought of him like that was enough to make her nauseous. And, at the same time, it was one of the more glorious thoughts she'd ever thought. 

To have him as her own, to be there when she needed him. With him by her side, she would never need worry about money again. She never need worry about her mother worrying, her brothers and father watching every move she made to make sure she wasn't getting into trouble or bullied or engaging in inappropriate behavior when the professors weren't looking.

If her parents wanted something inappropriate to worry about, they should seek the scandal between the twins and Hermione. Everyone was always mentioning it when the twins weren't around, asking her for information when she knew as little as the next girl. She only knew that when the three of them disappeared to the library, or to visit with some friendly Hufflepuffs, Hermione came back to the common room looking fairly disheveled, the twins glowing and even more mischievous than ever.

She felt like a shell not because of what had happened in her life formerly, but what had not happened.

She had been pining after Harry for what seemed like ages, but nothing had ever come of it. Nothing ever came of anything from Harry. For all the hype about him coming to Hogwarts and defeating Voldemort and being some sort of a hero, he was very dull. He was not very smart, not very athletic, and not very brave. The only thing he had in his advantage was his looks, which only held out for so long. 

Harry Potter was a stupid boy. Not many people owned up to this fact, but the truth was the truth. Apparently common sense really wasn't as common as people thought – Harry proved this easily. And his athletic skills went only as far as being able to hang on to an enchanted broomstick tampered with for precisely the purpose of his not falling off when he caught sight of the opposing seeker zooming toward the snitch. Then it was up to his Firebolt to get him to the tiny humming orb before time ran out.

He had made friends with Lupin and Dumbledore and McGonagall because of the scar on his forehead and the loss of his parents; only Snape seemed to understand what an under-average little boy he was.

She had often found herself wondering why she had ever wanted anything to do with him, until she saw his piercing eyes and pale skin and it all came back to her.

But now things were different. Now she had someone else to keep her occupied. Someone intelligent, fierce, strong, and aware of his own power as a person and a wizard. He could charm the stink off of a skunk if he wanted to, without using a spell. He was handsome without compare and expected nothing short of perfection from himself.

Of course he was the enemy. Of course he couldn't be just another Gryffindor like the rest of them. He had to be different. He had to be cold.

The sorting hat hadn't even touched his hair before proclaiming him a Slytherin. He reeked of bad intentions. The expectation of bad motives and inappropriate situations and suave misbehavior oozed from his very pores. He was silver, shining, and perfect.

She wanted him so badly it made her hurt. But she was empty because of him. He had made her this way with the stinging barbs thrown at her and her friends.

The barbs weren't visible; he ignored them. That hurt more than if he had called her Weasel like he always had called Ron, because if he bullied her, at least she would know he realized she existed.

Existing meant the world to her. To know she existed was her only true purpose in life this year. If he would only acknowledge her...before she melted into the scenery and became just another ghost at Hogwarts. Then she would be as transparent as she truly felt.

But Draco Malfoy was just as bad as any of them, and she wanted to knock his teeth out. Then he would not only realize she existed, but also understand that he wasn't perfect.

***

He was annoyed. Rarely was he truly annoyed, but this was cause for an exception. The redhead had gotten under his skin, and he had the desire to scratch her away like a mosquito bite. 

Her brothers always kept an eye on her. Wherever she went, she was followed by another brother, another Weasley. He could never find her alone, and if he approached while she was being watched he would be mauled by them. His enemies. His only real opposition.

He had to get rid of them, even for a moment. Because once they were gone, he could steal her away and show her who he truly was.

He had seen her gazing at him with an affection unrivaled even by that of little Colin Creevey for the great Harry Potter. She never realized he caught her watching him, but he was always watching her. Even when his eyes were not upon her, he was watching. 

It was more than the simple fact that she was pretty that intrigued him. She _was_ pretty, far more than any of her brothers; but she was also intelligent. A rival of the brains of Granger or any Ravenclaw. Compassion in greater volume than of any Hufflepuff. Grace and wit of a Slytherin. But she was a Gryffindor. She was one of the Chosen Ones. Chosen for greatness by a shriveled old hat and an ancient wizard.

She was under his skin because she would not leave his mind alone. Even when she was not in the same room, he could feel her there. He could feel her misery even now, while she cried in the bathroom over something. Over someone?

Over him. She was crying over _him,_ because she thought he didn't know of her existence. If only she knew, he thought bitterly, if only she knew of this feeling he kept having.

He was not an affectionate person by nature. Years of a cold home and unloving parents had drilled his silver nature into him. Years of emotional neglect showed in his chilled demeanor when dealing with those pests of Weasley and Potter. 

However, if given the opportunity, he would try to become more loving. More warm, giving, and compassionate. He would try...for her.

He would send an owl. At lunch, when everyone received owls. One owl to Ginny Weasley would go unnoticed in the mêlée of the post dropping from a plethora of gorgeous winged beasts. He would tell her to meet him in a secluded spot, somewhere that even those blasted twins could not find them, and there she would learn that she existed. There he would show her that she was seen by him. There she would know that she was wanted.

***


End file.
